


Choosing Not to Fight

by Arbryna



Series: Right Kind of Wrong [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian and Bethany deal with the fallout of their torrid night at the Blooming Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choosing Not to Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plumfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumfire/gifts).



  
She's nearly asleep when she hears it: the quiet scrape of the key in the lock, the creak that no amount of grease seems to fix. The dog lets out a soft, inquisitive whine, and is appeased by a barely audible whisper. Careful, nearly-silent footsteps make their way to the bedroom door. The knob slowly turns.

Bethany lies in the dark, waits until Marian closes the door behind her to speak. "Busy night?"

A startled gasp catches in Marian's throat, and a moment passes before she responds. "You should be asleep."

"You'd prefer it that way, wouldn't you?" Bethany's voice is soft, but tinged with bitterness. It's been a week since that strange, wonderful night at the Blooming Rose—a week of Marian finding every opportunity to avoid Bethany's company, staying out drinking or hunting gangs of thugs and not coming home until Bethany is already asleep.

Marian sighs. "Beth—"

A tiny burst of fire streams from Bethany's fingertip, lighting the lamp on the bedside table. The yellow glow illuminates Marian's conflicted expression. There's a brief moment where Bethany wants to drop the whole subject, to ease the tension between them and smooth out some of the lines on her sister's face. The last thing she wants to do is cause Marian pain. But she remembers what it felt like to touch Marian, to see those familiar features lost in ecstasy, because of her. If Marian decides it's never to happen again, so be it—but Bethany won't let her turn what did happen into something to be ashamed of.

"You're avoiding me." Bethany winces at the hurt bleeding into her tone.

"I'm not," Marian replies, too quickly. "I've just been…"

"Busy," Bethany finishes, pushing herself up to sit at the edge of her bunk. She locks gazes with her sister, arching an eyebrow. "You've been rather conveniently busy ever since that night at the Rose."

Marian's eyes go wide, something dark and heated passing through them before her face hardens and she looks away. "Well, if we're going to have any chance of getting out of this hovel, someone's got to earn the coin to get us on that expedition."

"I'm not helpless, you know," Bethany counters. "I'd come along if you let me. You never had a problem with it before."

"It's—" Marian stops, her shoulders sagging in a sigh as she turns her back to Bethany. "I don't need to worry about you getting hurt on top of everything else," she says brusquely. She starts to unlace her shirt, her movements stiff and nervous. "Can you put out the light?"

Bethany can't help but smile a little. "It's a little late to be shy, don't you think?"

That only makes Marian tense further, but when Bethany makes no move to extinguish the small flame, she huffs and continues disrobing. It's hardly the right time for it, but Bethany can feel a warm flutter in the pit of her stomach as her sister's skin is revealed, a hot stirring in her blood at the memory of how it felt under her hands, her lips. All too quickly, Marian swaps her armor and clothes for her sleeping shift; she avoids Bethany's gaze as she turns and steps toward the ladder leading up to her own bunk.

Before Marian can begin to ascend, Bethany reaches out, sliding her hand over her sister's wrist. "Come talk to me," she says softly, willing Marian to look at her. "Please."

"Beth, I can't…" Marian trails off, her arm tense under Bethany's hand. Bethany tugs, and Marian finally looks at her, a pained expression on her face. "I shouldn't," she amends, her voice rough with something that makes Bethany ache.

Maker's breath, her sister's stubborn nobility is going to drive Bethany insane. After everything they've been through—everything they <i>did</i> together, to each other—Marian is still trying to protect her from this. When Marian tries to pull her arm free, Bethany lets it go, curling her hand in on itself against her thigh.

"If I'd known it would cost me my sister," Bethany starts, surprising herself with the bitterness in her tone, "I never would have taken Isabela up on her offer."

 

Something in Marian's chest clenches at her sister's words. She moves quickly, kneeling in front of Bethany and taking her hands. "You haven't lost me," she says, her voice thick. "You never will."

"It feels like I have." Bethany looks up at Marian, brown eyes glistening with the threat of tears. "We've always told each other everything. Why can't we talk about this?"

Marian sighs, trying not to think about the soft warmth of Bethany's hands in her own, the swell of her breasts rising and falling with every breath. "Because it never should have happened." The words catch in her throat, stumble over her tongue—for all that Marian believes what she says, she can't find it in herself to wish that night away for any price.

"Was it so terrible?" Though Bethany tries to be flippant, her voice is small, vulnerable.

"Maker, no," Marian says, guilt swelling in her chest. She dares to reach out and cup the side of Bethany's face, her hand trembling against her sister's skin. "I wish it had been," she admits softly.

A smile pulls at Bethany's mouth, and she reaches up to cover Marian's hand with her own, pressing it against her cheek. "I don't."

The certainty in Bethany's voice surprises Marian. She shakes her head softly. "I don't know how you can accept this so easily."

Holding on to Marian's hand, Bethany leans back, shifting until she's lying on her side on the bunk. "Come lie down with me and I'll explain it to you."

Marian is frozen in place, her mind flooding with memories of the last time they shared a bed. She swallows nervously, contemplating the urge to pull away and go back to avoiding the subject.

"You're not afraid of your harmless little sister, are you?" Bethany teases, giving Marian's arm a little tug. "Worried I'll try to take advantage of you again?"

_Worried you wouldn't even need to try_ , Marian thinks, but in the end she can't deny her sister this simple thing. She crawls onto the bunk beside Bethany, feeling every meager bit of space between them like a physical ache. The distance doesn't last long, however; once Marian has settled onto her back, Bethany slides closer, slinging an arm over Marian's hips and resting her head on a tense shoulder. Marian breathes in sharply, tries to will her heart not to race.

"You don't have to be so nervous," Bethany murmurs. "I would never do anything you didn't want."

"That's the problem," Marian admits, watching the lamplight flicker against the bunk above them. Bethany's fingers are idly stroking at her side, probably in an attempt to be soothing, but the touch only makes Marian all too aware of how thin her shift is, how warm Bethany is pressed against her. "I do want it."

"Why is it a problem?" Bethany asks, squeezing Marian's hips encouragingly.

"Because it's _wrong_ ," Marian chokes out. To even think of it is sinful; to act on it, to do what they did in that room with Isabela…it should disgust her, disgust them both, not fill her with this terrible yearning to do it again.

"According to whom?"

"The Chantry, the Maker…everyone."

Bethany's soft laugh resonates against Marian's side. "The nobles are notorious for marrying relatives, and I haven't seen them struck down by the Maker's wrath."

Marian shuts her eyes, swallows around the lump in her throat. "Beth…"

"Sister," Bethany counters, pushing herself up onto an elbow. Her hand moves up to Marian's face, urges her eyes open. "Marian. I have spent my entire life being told that what I am is an abomination."

"That's different," Marian argues feebly.

"I don't see how." Bethany smiles, her eyes open and earnest in the dim light. "The Maker gave me these feelings, the same as He gave me my magic. If it doesn't hurt anyone, how can it be wrong?"

Shaking her head, Marian tries not to notice how close Bethany's lips are, how easily it would be to rise up and meet them with her own. "If Mother found out—"

Bethany presses a finger to Marian's lips, cutting her off. "She doesn't have to know. Isabela will keep our secret."

Marian's running out of reasons not to give in. Bethany is so close Marian can feel her breath brushing against her lips, her soft curves pressing into Marian's side. Maybe Bethany has a point—it didn't _feel_ wrong to be with Bethany at the Rose, doesn't feel wrong now; what feels wrong is trying to deny it. Maybe, if they're careful, they can have this secret for themselves.

Her sister must see the change in her, the glimmer of hope, because Bethany leans closer, and then her lips replace her finger. She's tentative at first, pressing soft and slow against Marian's mouth; Marian melts into the kiss, reaching up to cradle Bethany's face and keep her close.

A quiet whimper escapes Marian's throat as Bethany's tongue slides against her lips, and Bethany pulls back, smirking playfully. "Careful," she warns in a whisper, "don't want Uncle Gamlen to hear."

Marian groans under her breath. "He'd probably enjoy it, the sick bastard."

"Too bad for him," Bethany replies, pressing a kiss into Marian's jaw. Her hand drifts up Marian's side, caressing skin through the thin fabric of her shift. "This is just for you and I."

Shivers race under Marian's skin as Bethany kisses a path down her throat. She chuckles softly, tangling her fingers in Bethany's hair. "Isabela will be disappointed."

Bethany smirks into the crook of Marian's shoulder, drops a kiss there before rising to meet Marian's gaze. "Perhaps we can share a little."

With each kiss, it becomes easier for Marian to relax. She tugs Bethany closer, bringing their lips together more ardently than before. Her teeth close around Bethany's bottom lip, and she suckles on it briefly before releasing it. "Later," she pants quietly into her sister's mouth. "Right now it's just us."

A barely audible moan vibrates against Marian's lips as Bethany leans down again, kissing her with increasing urgency. Bethany's knee falls between Marian's legs, her hand closes around a breast, and though this is only the second time Bethany's ever done this, she seems to know exactly what she wants and how to get it. As she rocks into her sister, Marian wonders if Bethany has spent as much time thinking about this as she has; the thought is enough to make her ache all the more.

Marian is just starting to lift her own thigh, to provide Bethany with the same delicious friction, when she hears the knob on their bedroom door turn. Her blood runs cold. She breaks the kiss, her own panicked eyes seeking out her sister's.

Just as the door creaks open, Bethany drops her head back down onto Marian's shoulder, curling into her side in a way that at least appears chaste—even if desire is still throbbing under Marian's skin.

"I thought I heard you come in." Mother is standing in the doorway, bleary eyed and blinking against the dim light. "Out late again?"

Heart pounding rapidly in her chest, Marian struggles to keep her voice even. "Well, you know how it is," she says casually, tucking her free arm up behind her head. "No rest for the wicked means no rest for those who fight them."

Mother sighs. "I wish you'd be more careful. You're not responsible for stopping every thief and brigand in the city."

"I can't let the Guard have all the fun, can I?" Marian jokes, all too aware of Bethany's warmth, of the quick puffs of breath rustling the fabric covering her chest.

With a shake of her head, Mother moves to put out the lamp, then frowns as her eyes settle on the two of them curled up in Bethany's bunk. "Are you so weary from fighting evil that you can't remember where your own bed is? You may not value your own rest, but that doesn't mean you should deprive your sister of hers."

Marian opens her mouth to respond, but panic steals her breath and her words; how can she explain this?

"It's not her fault, Mother," Bethany offers sweetly, squeezing Marian in a sisterly hug. "I was having a nightmare when she came in. She was just calming me down."

Mother's expression softens, and Marian breathes an inward sigh of relief. "Well, I'm glad you can still find time in your busy schedule to take care of your sister." The words are edged with cold disapproval, and Marian can hear all too well the ones Mother doesn't say: _The way you failed to take care of your brother._ Guilt swells in Marian's chest, threatening to suffocate her as Mother blows out the lamp. "Now you should both get some sleep. It's late."

As soon as the door closes behind Mother, Marian extricates herself from Bethany's arms. She sits on the edge of the bunk, pressing her hands to her temples. This was too close. They'd barely begun, and they'd almost been caught—by their _mother_ , of all people. She was a fool to think this could work.

"Marian," Bethany says softly, her hand settling on Marian's shoulder. Her voice holds a giddy sort of breathlessness, like she finds the whole thing exciting. "It's all right. She doesn't suspect anything."

"Not yet," Marian replies through gritted teeth. She stands abruptly, letting Bethany's hand fall away.

"Where are you going?" Bethany asks. "Mother won't be back in tonight."

Marian tenses. "It doesn't matter," she says, beginning the climb to her own bunk. "This was a mistake."

Bethany doesn't offer any further protest as Marian settles herself into bed. After a few moments, Marian can hear soft sniffling coming from below her. Bethany's trying to be quiet, but it's plain that she's crying. Marian fights the urge to return to her sister, to pull her into her arms; it would only make this harder.

For a short while, she forgot all of the reasons they couldn't do this. She won't let that happen again.

***

"Isabela, what's a body shot?"

Bethany nearly chokes on her drink. It's only ale, and likely watered down at that, so it doesn't burn too badly. Small blessing, that, with Merrill sitting across the table from her with wide, guileless eyes. That bright, mossy green doesn't even hint at the danger that lurks behind it, the power pulsing in Merrill's veins just waiting to be released. It's hard to remember that danger at times like this, when she resembles nothing so much as a starry-eyed child eager to learn the ways of the world.

"Kitten, where did that come from?" Isabela chuckles. Naturally, she's unfazed by the question, and far more interested in the heat suffusing Bethany's cheeks. Her amber eyes glint with a spark of mischief that Bethany has come to recognize as the one that pops up whenever vulgar subjects arise in conversation.

"I heard a couple of boys in the alienage talking about it," Merrill answers. She takes a small sip of her own ale, scrunching up her nose at the taste. "It sounded like fun."

Oh, Maker. Bethany brings her drink to her lips, hoping to at least try to disguise her furious blush. This can't possibly get any worse.

"Well," Isabela drawls, stretching the word so that it seems to slide over her lips like honey. She locks eyes with Bethany, quirking an eyebrow just so. "I'm a firm believer in showing, rather than telling."

She was wrong. Sweet Andraste help her, she was so, so wrong. This is worse. Now Bethany can't stop thinking about Isabela's particular style of teaching, and her very recent, very personal experience with it. She squeezes her eyes shut, but it only makes the memory more vivid.

"Oh, won't you show me, Isabela? Please?"

Isabela hums, a sultry sound that resonates deep in Bethany's belly. "I'll need an assistant."

Bethany's eyes pop open, wide and disbelieving. She can't possibly mean—

The look on Isabela's face says that yes, without a doubt, she definitely _does_ mean. "What do you say, Sweetness? Want to help me demonstrate?"

As luck would have it, Bethany is spared from having to answer by the long, low creak of the Hanged Man's door. Turned away from it as she is, Bethany can't see who has just entered—but the way Isabela's eyes light up with a dark sort of mischief means it could only be one person.

"Well look who's come round." Isabela leans back in her chair, casts a filthy smirk over Bethany's shoulder. "Looks like I'll have no shortage of volunteers."

Bethany tenses, grips her mug tighter. She hasn't seen her sister since last night; this morning found her waking alone in the bedroom they share, Marian's bed made up neatly and her armor and daggers gone.

"Isabela," Marian greets, her voice tight. She stands apart from her sister, cautiously avoiding Bethany's furtive glances. "I might have a lead on a job."

"It's always work with you," Isabela sighs dramatically.

"Not always." The corner of Marian's mouth twitches in the barest hint of a smile. "They want to meet down at the docks. I was hoping I could persuade you to join me, on the off chance they've got more than tea and conversation in mind."

"Oh Hawke, you know I'm always happy to watch your back." Isabela pushes her chair away from the table and rises to her feet in one smooth motion. She waggles her eyebrows. "It's such a nice one, after all."

"I should go too," Bethany offers, turning to face Marian. "If you're worried it's an ambush, you could use all the help you can get."

"That won't be necessary," Marian replies, too quickly. She still refuses to meet Bethany's eyes, and her tone is carefully detached. "I'm sure I'm just being overly cautious. No need for you to trouble yourself."

"It's no trouble." Bethany starts to stand, but finds herself frozen in place by the look in her sister's eyes. It's cold, almost angry.

"We'll be fine," Marian says brusquely. "If you want something to do, go home and see if Mother needs help with anything."

Before Bethany can offer any further argument, Marian turns on her heel and heads for the door, sparing a brief glance to make sure Isabela is following. Isabela rests her hand briefly on Bethany's shoulder as she passes, offering a sympathetic smile before hurrying to catch up.

A sharp ache pricks at Bethany's chest as she looks down at her hands. For a brief moment last night, she'd been so hopeful—so sure that Marian wanted the same thing she does. Now Marian seems determined to put as much distance between them as possible. For all of Marian's protestations to the contrary, Bethany can't help but feel like she's already lost her sister.

"Varric must be up by now," Merrill pipes up, shifting awkwardly in her seat. "He's always got good stories to tell. Unless you're going to go help your mother, of course. You don't have to stay here with me. I know I'm not your favorite person—"

"Merrill," Bethany interrupts, forcing a strained smile. The last thing she wants to do is see her mother right now. The distraction of Varric's tales is just what she needs. "Let's go see what Varric is up to."

***

"That was quick," Isabela remarks as they make their way toward the docks. "Lovers' quarrel already?"

Marian sets her jaw, clenches her hands into fists at her sides. "We're not lovers."

Isabela chuckles, nudges Marian's hip with her own. "Could have fooled me back at the Rose."

"That was a mistake." Marian's throat tightens around the words. She's repeated them to herself over and over since it happened—even more so since last night. She still can't quite get herself to believe them.

"Was it?" Isabela arches an eyebrow, slips an arm around Marian's waist as they walk. "So you're saying you haven't been tempted to try it again?"

Heat floods Marian's cheeks, memories of the night before playing in her mind's eye.

"Aha, you have." Isabela smirks triumphantly. "And does little sister share this temptation?"

Marian blushes harder. "It was just once, and nothing happened," she insists. A warm flutter in her stomach corrects her, reminds her of what _did_ happen. "Nothing serious, anyhow. But we almost got caught."

"Ooh, that always adds a fun bit of flavor."

They both jolt to a stop when Marian turns abruptly on Isabela, eyes wide. "By our _mother_ , Isabela." Her pulse throbs in her ears as she remembers what her mother came so near to walking in on. "What would she say if she knew what we've done?"

Isabela is unruffled. "Well, it does seem prudent to withhold that bit of information from her," she concedes with a shrug. "But that's no reason you can't still have your fun."

Marian scoffs. "Where? We can't afford to rent rooms at the Rose all the time, not when we need every bit of coin we have for the expedition. At home, either Mother or Gamlen could come in at any time." Something in Isabela's expression makes her stop short. "A-and it's wrong," she adds, too late.

"Mmhmm," Isabela hums, smirking. "Sure, sweet thing. If that's what you want to tell yourself."

Frowning, Marian turns and goes back to walking. Despite Bethany's arguments, she can't quiet the voice in her head that says she's somehow debasing her sister with these desires. It's her duty to protect Bethany; she doesn't need her mother's constant reminders to be sure of that. The things she wants from her little sister, the things she's already taken…it's not anything to celebrate—no matter how good and right it may have felt, no matter how badly they both want it.

"You know, you could always use my room," Isabela offers after a few steps, casual as ever.

The offer catches Marian off guard; she's tried not to consider it, mostly because it's so damned tempting. "We couldn't drive you out of your own room," she says feebly, her eyes fixed on the ground ahead of them.

"Who says you've got to drive me out?" Isabela shoots back with a playful smirk. "I wouldn't mind the show—and you know I'm always happy to join in."

For a moment, Marian lets herself imagine it: pressing Bethany down into the rough blankets on Isabela's bed, taking time to memorize every last bit of lamp-lit skin with eyes and hands and tongue. A pang of longing strikes at her chest so fiercely that she nearly forgets how to breathe.

In that brief snippet of time, she's too distracted to notice Isabela tensing, drawing her daggers. She doesn't sense the thug that sneaks up behind her while Isabela rushes to meet an enemy in the opposite direction. It's not until his cudgel slams into the side of her head that she realizes they've been ambushed.

Marian crashes to the ground, vaguely aware of the fight going on around her. Steel clashes, footsteps fall heavy around her, joined by the pained grunts of dying men. The last thing she hears before her vision goes black is Isabela's voice.

"Well, shit."

***

She wakes slowly to gentle fingertips drifting across her forehead, the tickle of hair as it's brushed back toward her ear. A palm presses warm against her cheek. The pain that exploded in her head before is now just a dull throb, barely noticeable. Far more noteworthy are the familiar lumpy mattress beneath her, the smell of spice and sex and whiskey that always permeates Isabela's room—and the bittersweet hint of roses and lyrium that belongs to someone else entirely.

A low groan vibrates in Marian's throat as she blinks her eyes open. Bethany is perched on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with furrowed brows. "Not quite what I had in mind when Isabela offered us her room," she offers with a weak smirk.

The hand on Marian's face pulls away, shoves at her shoulder. Bethany's eyes narrow. "You're an idiot."

"Thank you, Beth." Marian rolls her eyes as she slides up to sit back against the headboard. "You're always so encouraging."

Bethany purses her lips. "If you'd let me come along, you might not have gotten hurt at all."

Marian rubs at the back of her neck, studying the irregular pattern of stains and patched tears in Isabela's bedspread. "I didn't want to put you in danger." _From me most of all._

"One of these days," Bethany says, pulling one leg up beneath her as she turns to fully face Marian, "you're going to have to stop protecting me."

"I've always protected you," Marian argues stubbornly.

"Yes, but I'm a grown woman now." Bethany's mouth twists into a teasing smirk as her eyebrow arches. "I believe you may have noticed."

Heat floods Marian's cheeks, pools in her belly where it turns cold and heavy. She pulls her knees up to her chest, swallows against the lump in her throat. "I can't lose you."

The smirk on Bethany's lips softens, her eyes open and gentle as she reaches out to lay a hand on Marian's arms, wrapped tightly around her knees. "Is that what you're so afraid of? I'm sorry to break it to you, but I don't intend to go anywhere. You're well and truly stuck with me. That's what family means."

"It doesn't always mean forever." Marian's voice catches in her throat. "Father, Carver…"

"They weren't your fault." Bethany slides closer, squeezes Marian's knee. "There was nothing you could have done to save either of them."

Marian scoffs bitterly. "That's not what Mother thinks."

"To the Void with what Mother thinks!" Bethany's voice rises, filling with a frustrated sort of passion. "You're so hung up on everyone else. What do you think—what do you feel?"

A deep pang of longing strikes at Marian's chest at the naked, unsteady hope in her sister's eyes. She's been willing to be distant, to try to push Bethany away for her own sake, but she can't lie to her. "I…I feel things I shouldn't," she chokes out, barely more than a whisper. Moisture pricks at her eyes.

"Why shouldn't you?" Bethany asks, stroking Marian's forearm encouragingly. "Other than what someone else might think."

Marian fumbles for a moment, grasping for any reason she can think of, but she knows even before she tries that she won't find anything. The victorious gleam in Bethany's eyes says that she knows it, too.

"I thought so." Bethany's hand moves up to Marian's face again. Her thumb slides slowly back and forth, tickling at the fine hairs on Marian's cheek. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and bare. "I feel those things too, you know. I think I have for a while, and only just realized."

Silence settles between them as Marian's stomach flips and churns. She reaches up to her face, covering Bethany's hand with her own. "I don't want to hurt you," she admits.

Bethany smiles, scoots closer until her hip presses against the side of Marian's leg. "I don't think you could if you tried," she says. "I trust you, Sister. I've always trusted you, and you've never let me down."

Marian draws an unsteady breath, her heart beating an anxious tattoo against the inside of her ribs. "Beth, this…it scares me. How much I want from you."

Nibbling at her lower lip, Bethany leans in. Her breath brushes warm and moist against Marian's lips as she catches Marian's gaze. "I promise it's not more than I want to give."

The space between them vanishes as Bethany captures Marian's lips in a sweet, gentle kiss. For an impossibly long instant, Marian forgets how to breathe. Her legs slowly straighten, lying flat against the bed as she reaches up to tangle her fingers in Bethany's hair. Soon gentle is no longer enough, and Bethany whimpers as she's pulled over to straddle Marian's hips. It's not frantic or desperate, but neither is it chaste; their mouths slide slick against one another, tongues teasing at the undersides of lips. If Marian could have anything at this moment, it would be to stay here, like this, until the world eventually crumbles to ashes around them.

Marian's heart seizes in her chest when she hears the quiet creak of the door. She presses gently at Bethany's shoulders, pushing her back far enough for Marian to break the kiss and jerk her head toward the door. She breathes an audible sigh of relief when she sees who it is.

"Oh, good." Isabela smirks, canting her hips just so. "I was afraid I'd miss the makeup sex."


End file.
